


Cornflower Sun

by Sternflocken



Series: Love in Theory and Practice [2]
Category: Loki - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brunnhilde | Valkyrie & Loki Friendship (Marvel), Difficult Pregnancy, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jotun!Loki, Loki - Freeform, M/M, Mage!Loki, Magic, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Pain, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Prince!Loki, Quote: I assue you brother; the sun will shine on us again., Shapeshifting, Thor - Freeform, Thorki - Freeform, Thorkibaby, Thunderfrost - Freeform, but still, for real now, he should have been a dad to thor and loki, heimdall is the actual hero of asgard, king!Thor, not too much angst..., unintended sappyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-02 21:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17271668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sternflocken/pseuds/Sternflocken
Summary: “The sun will shine on us again”… Loki meant it when he made this promise. He surely did not anticipate what it meant to keep it…“It was not mockery that I had in mind…” Loki finally yields. His legs unfold as he takes Thor’s hand he gives freely now to be guided by Loki’s. It is lead between his lean thighs, beneath the manhood Thor is so fond of to please, to find what is left of the effeminate appearance he had presented. “This… it is my gift for you,” he confesses. “It is the only way to bear you a child. An heir to the throne… the only way our people will not lose faith in you. In you, keeping me by your side… and to ensure the throne of Asgard will be passed on to the next generation in peace and not revolution.”...full force mpreg drama sappyness...All thanks to the bestest writingbroIchigo_Kacchanfor the cornflower kick that ruined my Christmas but saved this fic xD I love you <3





	1. Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first there was this [comic ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BP-yb4sAWv5/) by [ lohkaydraws](https://www.instagram.com/lohkaydraws/) I saw last summer and ideas that grew and grew while I swam my laps and cycled to work and then I made this huge mistake: I began to write them down… but the suffering has an end now and I really did enjoy writing again so now everyone else has to suffer^^

When the returning of the king and his comrades is announced, the people on Asgard's streets turn to the way leading them from the Bifröst to the palace. Thor and the few warriors who accompanied him are greeted by warm welcomes and caring curiosity: are they back save and well? Has their mission been successful? The people of Asgard find their heroes exhausted, clothes worn out, torn even and tainted with dirt and blood. But they carry smiles on their faces and only minor signs of wounds. Like this they are also embraced by their families and loved ones, relieved, glad to have them back, as they pass the gates to the palace’s wide forecourt. 

It is a palace still, though less pompous, less gold, less glory compared to the palace Thor has come back to for the greatest part of his life. Still it feels like home. His smile is gentle when he sees his comrades reunited with their close ones – in one particular case reunited with a bottle of the finest of Asgard’s liquor – and gives his thanks to the palace servants when they take their baggage and heavy coats. His way continues through the sunlit arcades, leading him to the wide throne hall. High windows open towards the golden city but all eyes turn towards the arriving king, who is smiling broadly while he makes his way through a crowd of people already awaiting him. Palace servants, politicians, diplomats and representatives of the people all turn to him when he passes them until he finally reaches the steps to the throne. Wooden it is, missing all the golden pomp of former times, but therefore artfully ornate by iron adornment. Mjölnir is to be seen on this gift of the craftsmen guilds, as well as Stormbreaker alongside numerous heroics. Engraved on each side, facing the people and watching over the realm, there are outlines of Odin and Frigga, the only relict of the heritage from which a new Asgard had emerged. 

As brightly as the grand hall is bathed in broad sunlight, the throne is placed in shadows – a king is not to be blinded when he casts his eyes upon the glorious realm. A sight Thor turns his back at, in this very moment, when he approaches a high grown, slender figure. He cannot help but remember his mother, standing aside his father’s throne, warmly smiling. Her loving presence had certainly been a welcoming fireplace, home, not only for him.

Dressed in black and green garments that are enveloping this delicate figure way to dainty and adorned with golden charms, Loki however still blends in with the shadows almost too well. Black hair drapes his fair, sharp face, falls over his shoulders when, with a bow as fluent as a serpent’s movement, and a likewise smooth voice, he places his greetings. “My king…”  
Thor’s lips curl to a grin when he feels the slightest shudder of this graceful hand, capable of conjuring the finest kinds of magic, as he takes it into his battle-calloused own to place a gentle kiss onto brittle skin, kneeling down before this precious being. “My prince. I have returned.”

“Alive, I see, and successfully, I suppose?” Loki asks with a sober voice, holding Thor’s gaze that is wandering over the handsome prince’s appearance while he gets up again, unwittingly licking his cold-chapped lips, and leans closer. His hand dives under his red cape, producing a small, blue-petalled flower. So close now Loki feels warm breath on his skin, he tucks the blossom to the fine braid that graces the waves of black hair, emerging a golden horned tiara. “A cornflower?” Loki notices austerely, his gaze following Thor’s every move, hiding curiosity, “So rare in this barren land and you plucked it?” 

The only answer is a broad smile before Thor turns. “Well,” the king speaks up, his voluminous voice now filling the room when he lets himself fall onto his throne, “I do guess we have a long way to go still, until we can declare peace with Jötunheim…”  
With swift words the most significant circumstances are reported and further meetings are determined, necessary arrangements are made. But it is not until the crowd is gradually dissolving, that Thor finally turns to Loki again. “We could have done with a little silver tongue, I guess,” he admits, his hand placed on Loki’s back. With gentle pressure the broad king is implying to move with him, earning another slightly raised eyebrow. 

“I suppose I am still not exactly the most welcomed guest in Laufey’s empire…”, Loki points out.  
Thor is leading him through the hall, into a different kind of hallway now. In contrary to the spacious and light ones leading towards the throne hall, the passageways deeper into the palace are narrow, not as accessible to everyone. “Neither am I…” Eventually the hand leaves Loki’s back and grabs his hand, the pace increasing. “We must not lose hope…” 

“I am not,” Loki answers with a slight smile. “I am, though, wondering where you are taking me,” he adds with now impish lips and eyes curiously gazing around, just as if it was his first time seeing the heavy columns and small fanlights. His mantle swaying with his light-footed steps as they move on. “With such haste.”

“Therefore you are still upholding the old rules,” Thor states, moving further along with bounding strides, apparently not too eager to share his destination.

“We are already breaking with so many of the old ways. At least let the people have a little traditional king-greeting spectacle.” Loki still follows effortlessly, around another corner. Knowing every stone of this palace better than his own skin, he does not need an answer for his feet to very well anticipate where Thor leads him, to move along almost glidingly. “They love this kind of things. The theatre and the show and the make believe,” he goes on casually, unwittingly brushing the fragile petals in his hair. “And to be honest, I’m quite fond of the kneeling part.” Twittering to the dance of fluttering coats and clacking boots on stony ground, he is ignoring the stern look on Thor’s face as much as his question was ignored and as an answer he just gets a knowing snort. “Oh, and by chance we seem to be completely alone,” he declares in a tone of overdone perplexity as they reach a narrow, abandoned corridor.

“Precisely,” Thor finally answers, already turning towards Loki again with a grin now on his own lips. Loki finds them pressed against his the next moment, Thor's hand firm at his neck. Eyes flutter shut when the prince’s lips answer, his body sinks against the broad chest with a voluptuous moan as Thor pulls him closer even – and suddenly grabs thin air as Loki vanishes with boisterous laughter, resounding in the empty hallway, followed by a furiously frustrated: “Loki!” 

It is not that Thor is surprised by this twist. He simply had not exactly expected such impudence so quick after his returning, but still it takes him just the blink of an eye to find his desire sitting up above him in the fanlight, giggling way too amused for his liking. “What is this foolishness?!” Thor growls, despite knowing the prince’s liking for such tacky jests.  
“If we are speaking of foolishness, what would you call that little charade with my illusion?” Loki teases with a haughty smile and gleefully swinging legs. “So eager you cannot tell the difference?” 

“I could surely tell the difference last time.” He usually can. He usually does. Thor is sure about having greeted the real Loki in the throne hall. He knows by the way Loki keeps himself from picking his hands whenever he stands up there. By the way he furrows his brows just the slightest even if he attempts to conceal his thoughts. By his scent and the way his skin feels. There is never a hint of scent on illusions or fetches, no matter how touchable. His mischievous prince surely parted just now.

“Could you?” Loki goes on nevertheless, huffing pertly. 

“Loki, do not jest with me about such things,” Thor growls, quickly catching the seam of Loki’s cape, “It’s infuriating!” and with a fast jolt Loki is brought down, losing site and balance just to find himself caught by reliable arms, placing his feet back to the ground again. “I thought you would be happy to see me,” Thor sighs. Straightforward. 

“What makes you think I am not?” Loki winds instead, squirming in Thor’s arms and avoiding to get his lips caught again.

“I am not in the mood for more games.” Thor continues to try to put an end to this foolish tig.  
Weeks and weeks of hardship lie behind him, weeks and weeks without the comfort of the palace, or even a safe place to take a breath, weeks and weeks of nothing but bleakness and dread and most of all: without Loki. Without seeing him, without hearing his voice, without his touch… Loki, who is playing childish games with him now. He could have taken the trickster with him, certainly. His skills would have been of good use and he would not have been left with unanswered desires. But how could he ever put his love in such danger for such selfish reasons? No, it is for the best that Loki is entrusted with his own duties, the domestic front, to watch over Asgard with vigilant eyes and a beguiling tongue and his furtive ways to root out the most hidden secrets. It certainly does not matter how Thor’s heart is aching every day he spends apart from Loki.

“So serious, _brother_ ,” Loki sighs but still with an impish smile, teasingly emphasizing the last word. 

“Does it not matter I missed you and I suffered your absence?” It’s a confession more than a question.

“How sweet,” Loki comments, rolling eyes and unfazed voice. Failing still, to fully hide from Thor a different tone to his mood. 

“You scoff at endearment?” Thor asks, frowning, searching for any hint to decipher his wayward prince.

“Only that I know your true intentions,” Loki explains, prosaic, shrugging. Not in the slightest eager to allow even a fleeting glimpse on his own thoughts. 

“My intent was to kiss you,” Thor states plainly, Loki’s glance darting from lips to uneven eyes to lips again. “I wish to taste this wicked tongue of yours,” he confesses, snatching Loki’s arms, before he might even think of absconding again. “May I?” the king asks rounding, leaning his forehead against Loki’s, tired of games and exhausted of fighting. 

“Oh my, we have learned to ask.” It is a weak attempt to act bantering. Too close to giving in already. 

“Open for me.” Thor demands and Loki finally does, leaning willingly into a kiss, tender and needy and when Thor lifts him up into his arms he just lets it happen and gives in to his body slacking, his muscles easing their tension for the first time since Thor has left to reconnoiter their odds with Jötunheim. 

The first time Thor had done so had been frightening. Thor had caught him utterly off-guard, ripping him off solid ground, off the safety of his own two feet when he had allowed himself to be the most vulnerable. Just to find himself being hoisted into a very different kind of safety and comfort. The kind he had not known since he had been a small, innocent child, running to Frigga when he had been afraid. She would have picked him up and comforted him, despite Odin taking this for epheminacy. He is sure Thor had never needed to be picked up… 

“Come to my chambers… tonight…” Loki eventually whispers into Thor’s ear, huddling soft skin to whiskery cheeks but denying still eager lips to catch his own once more. 

“Nothing else I had in mind,” Thor grins, Loki can feel it in the fleeting moment he allows himself to keep clinging to the man he calls his king. But not only his. Asgards king.

“I suppose so… now put me down,” he demands, leaning back brusquely. Thor does not. 

“I said: put me down!” he hisses menacing, stemming his hands against broad shoulders. 

“Oh, just a moment ago you seemed to enjoy this very well…” Now it is Thor’s grin that is growing wider and Loki’s frown that is growing even more threatening. 

“And now I want you to put me down, you uncouthly oaf! This is humiliating!” Loki struggles against Thor’s hug, without standing a chance. 

“You find it humiliating to be loved and cherished?” Thor asks, his smile still amused over Loki throwing tantrums out of thin air, or so it seems. 

“I find it humiliating to be seen like this! Someone is coming, now put me down!” Loki snarls hasty, trying to loosen Thor’s unbreakable grasp. 

“You did not seem to care-,“ Thor begins, disrupted by biting coldness burning his skin where Loki’s hands seized his wrists and he barely manages to set his vicious prince to the ground again safely, instead of letting him fall from intuitively recoiling arms. Too late…

“Oi, frosty princess! How about taking a room, huh?” Brunnhilde’s rough voice hails them, a bottle of liquor in one hand and a fair maiden to her other arm, striding down the hallway with a smug grin and sturdy steps. 

“How about getting lost, booze-hag?!” Loki bites back, smoothing the fabric of his mantle. 

“Been there, done that, over it,” she goes on unimpressed, winking at Thor while passing. “So king’s banquet tonight, I was told? Wise choice, your Majesty, gonna be there!” 

“Great!” Thor beams at her, ignoring Loki’s admonitory glance, while the Valkyrie walks on by, now prattling to her company again, “This is so funny, you know, when I first met them they've been brothers and now they're hitting it like rabbits, Asgard is so weird these days!”

“Why does she have a chamber in the palace, again?” Loki grunts, he himself turning to leave.

“She happens to be the last of the Valkyries? Where else should we bring up a new generation?” Thor states the obvious, simply letting Loki have his will this time. At least the prince left it to no uncertain terms he does not intent to proceed their reunion any further. “So your chambers, tonight?” he inquires their stand of matters nevertheless. 

“Make sure to attend a bath before.” 

“As you wish, my prince,” Thor smiles broadly at Loki, hinting a bow as he watches him leave and stays behind, rubbing his itchy wrists. 

\--

When Thor knocks at the heavy door to Loki’s chambers that night his armor is replaced by splendid garments. His hair and beard are trimmed, his skin thoroughly cleaned from dust and dirt and blood, souvenirs of his undertaking in Jötunheim.  
When he is called in, it is with a thrill of excitement that he enters the poorly lit room. Loki’s demesne is vast though it may appear narrow when shrouded in darkness. Not as spacious as his own, but it is host to countless secrets that slumber in dim alcoves and hidden nooks. It was never in question that Loki would not abandon these rooms or even move to the king’s. 

“You are late.” Thor is greeted by Loki’s smooth voice, hovering from the steps of a large stone basin, where the prince is seated, a mirror in front of him. Carefully he is tugging knots out of damp hair. Gleaming eyes are pointed at the king by the colossal, black wolf that rests at Loki’s feet.

“You have been missing at the banquet.” Thor dares to retort, carelessly stepping closer, despite earning a warning growl. 

“Oh, I am certain you will find plenty of people who witnessed me being there.” Loki objects, chuckling.

“I did miss you. I longed for your company. Not your illusion.” Thor admits straightforward as his eyes wander over temptingly exposed ankles and black silk, so light and smooth it is barely able to hide Loki’s delicate features. How he condemns these gold threads, skillfully woven into the finest patterns… but so distracting…

“And I did long for a bath.” Loki holds up the comb for Thor to busy his eager hands. With an amused smile and a slight shake of his head the king takes it and runs the horn through thick, black hair, cautious not to hurt his beloved. As Thor takes his place Fenris rises, Thor’s warily gaze following her trotting steps.

“She runs free when I do not need her… she is not a dog. You know that.” Loki answers to the unspoken distrust that leads Thor’s attention away from him.

When Asgard was rebuilt, great parts of it were formed by Loki’s magic. Most creations he chose willingly, some just came to be. Places like Frigga’s rooms and objects like the cradle that was home to Thor as well as Loki and mysteries like ancient writings, old as time and hosting mighty spirits of their own. Fenris was one of them. At one moment in time she had just been there, a cub still but feared the very moment people realized what monster Loki was raising. They demanded of Thor to judge the growing wolf. But how could he condemn a yet innocent being for its former life? How could he rip Loki of his truest consort, of that being he cared so dearly for? So Fenris stayed. She stayed at Loki’s side and although she is a free spirit, she never seems to fail to be there when needed, to stick to rules never explained to her. Where Loki is dearly loved, Thor is barely as much as accepted.  
Apparently both of them do not take it necessary for him to be informed of the wolf’s occupation. Even less so with Loki in front of him, searching his eyes in the mirror. An approving smile on Loki’s lips is his reward when Thor turns back to him and the sight of it lightens up his frown. Even more so as Loki’s eyes flutter shut with relish when Thor replaces the comb with his fingers to continue the gentle strokes through heavy curls, swiftly drying. 

The prince does not open them until he tilts his head, a silent invitation for Thor’s lips to caress the dainty neck he is offered. Deeply he inhales familiar fumes of herbs and oils that only so much as mingle with the scent of his beloved, while his hands withdraw from smooth hair to search for the hem of Loki’s robes. 

“May I?” he faithfully asks for permission, his fingers already running along the sleek fabric. 

“I left quite an impression, it seems…” Loki teases with a low chuckle. “What if I decline?” 

“That would be a shame…” Thor’s voice is merely a deep rumble to Loki’s neck, vibrating from the broad chest his back leans onto and although his hands omit to go any further, they do not stay still, eagerly waiting for allowance. 

“Hm…” Loki hesitates, leaning in to Thor’s embrace and caressing lips, smiling with relish for making him wait. Only a few moments he savors the tension, his own heart racing with excitement, not unnoticed by Thor’s impatient hands. “Go ahead then,” Loki finally gives in, “see what you find…”

And as rough fingers dive under flowing fabric a shudder runs through Loki’s body. A smug grin steals to his lips as Thor’s hands move on, but where he was sure to have held the slender, lean body of his beloved, he now meets smooth skin and soft curves and his eyes dart open. Faded is the grin as he searches for Loki’s reflection in the mirror, just to find even his face oddly changed. Startled he rises, pulls this strange body with him, wrenching the gown over small shoulders, only to be presented with a woman’s body. An appealing one for sure, not unlike Loki but still… not him!

“Loki! Stop this!” He urges, eyes searchingly darting through the darkness of the room. But it cannot be. Too real was what he had felt, sensed, smelled… or was it? 

“Do you not like what you see, my king?” The appearance in front of him smiles alluring but he keeps the distance, his hands seizing the small shoulders and there is something sparkling in the depth of green eyes that appears not right…

“This is not amusing!” he presses but Loki goes on, undeterred winding hands up Thor’s arms as far as they can reach, green eyes curiously watching the unfamiliar limbs gliding along beloved skin. “Loki! Did you not have enough of your mocking?!” Thor sighs in frustration.

“But my king…” Loki purrs, still with the same unwavering smile to the lips. “Do you not miss a woman’s body? I can give you all you desire…” Hurt! The realization hits Thor. It is pain he recognizes in these eyes, as he has seen way to many times, no matter how skillfully disguised.

“Whatever you mean to wrest from me, my love and lust are solely bound to you, Loki, now change back!” Thor demands, impatiently and not to the slightest delighted by this discuss.

“My only wish… is to feel you as a woman feels you…“ Loki goes on nonetheless but lips hardening and treacherous eyes averting Thor’s gaze. 

“Loki, just stop this charade! I do not want any illusions or gimmickry! You very well know I desire you for who you truly are…” Thor urges, desperate to put an end to this. 

“Who I truly am?” Loki echoes, his smile crumbling now, shattering into splintering pieces. “Who I truly am?!” he spits, bitterness exploding with a green flash as he fluidly escapes Thor’s grasp and he is merely a blurring mess as he stumbles away. “Whichever this is! Which one would you like, oh great King of Asgard?!” Loki’s voice screeches while the body that is followed by Thor’s horrified gaze takes on a blue shade, blood red eyes gleaming in the dark. “The one I was born with?” Loki yells, “Or the one I live with?!” And he changes back to the slender, pale, black-haired Thor is used to, “Which one is it that pleases you best?! Go ahead, just pick!” And within the blink of an eye the room is crowded and Thor meets red gleaming ones and green ones wherever he looks. Beastly abominations of blue skin and broad shape and horned ones, leathery skin over bare bones and deliciously curvy women and the child Thor remembers his brother as and a squealing Jötunn infant and amongst them he catches sight of Jane Foster and Lady Sif and maidens he knows to mind the palace, each and every one of them stark naked staring at him with the same resentful glance to their eyes as the beautiful boy he used to defended against all advances in their youth and the young man he fought on Midgard, marked by agony and out of his mind and the broken shadow he found in Odin’s vault, resigned and eaten up with grief and the lively man he had met on Sakaar and the calmed one he had hugged back at the Statesman and another Jötunn, barely hitting adolescence and a bulging muscular Aesir and Brunnhilde and Bruce Banner and a mischievous grinning youngster wearing a tiara with small golden horns and his brother who fought Thanos even if this had been on paths apart of his own and the prince with whom he had built Asgard back up out of ashes and- “Loki listen!” Thor exclaims, taking a deep breath to calm the uproar he feels igniting within himself. “I do cherish and desire you. However you need to appear…to feel the most content…at this moment…”  
Sincerity speaks out of his words and surrender from the king’s upheld hands and the flaring pictures implode to the delicate and graceful prince, pale skinned and sharp faced. He smooths back a veil of black curls as he treads towards twisted, dark wooden columns and flowing curtains that hide his bed.

“So go with this one for now…” Loki sighs, a moment later slumping onto sumptuous sheets. 

Thor carefully follows his invitation, taking his place beside the prince as he bows over his desired to muster him with searching eyes. To be sure the nightmare is gone as suddenly as it had emerged. To safely tread on. “And now would you mind to tell me: why all of this pothers?” Thor finally dares to ask calmly but determined. “There is more, Loki. I still see a secret in these eyes of yours… what is it?” 

“It is nothing,” Loki turns away, swiftly closes his robes, clutching to the fine fabric hiding his body. “If I have ruined your mood then maybe you should leave now,” he adds with an affronted hiss.

“Don’t you go on lying to me! Tell me!” Thor’s voice is a dangerous rumble as he catches Loki’s wrists that show lightning shaped scars like Thor’s are adorned with countless imprints of frostbites. Forcing Loki to face him, he presses his prince to the mattress that has witnessed oh so many nights of deep compassion and at least as many nights of tart hisses, of roaring bellows, as well as the laughter of ludic scamper or alluring words from a skillful silver tongue. As much as he had missed the mischievous God, born as his foe, raised as his brother, fighting as his friend, now by his side as his beloved consort and faithful prince, as much as he longed for his touch, he has learned too well not to ignore secrets he senses within Loki to allow himself to be overwhelmed now. Even less he would leave now, abandon Loki, exposed to the uproar he senses. And Loki, forced to look at him, does not fail to notice the clenched jaw, the sincerity to his eyes and firm fists around his wrists, the distance of their bodies, rigidly upheld by Thor. Defiantly he stares back for long moments of heavy breathing and waiting and searching and weighing. 

“It was not mockery that I had in mind…” Loki finally yields. His legs unfold as he takes Thor’s hand he gives freely now to be guided by Loki’s. It is lead between his lean thighs, beneath the manhood Thor is so fond of to please, to find what is left of the effeminate appearance he had presented. “This… it is my gift for you,” he confesses. “It is the only way to bear you a child. An heir to the throne… the only way our people will not lose faith in you. In you, keeping me by your side… and to ensure the throne of Asgard will be passed on to the next generation in peace and not revolution.”

“A child?” Thor breathes, his eyes softer now but in disbelief, despite the warmth and tenderness he feels are real and the words addressed to him are flattering. “And you, of all, want a child to be born for a purpose alone? As a gift?” 

“I, of all, do not fail to notice how you glance at your comrades, our soldiers with whom you fight, when they, returning to Asgard, rejoin their families… how your heart aches for a child,” Loki pleads, his eyes defiant, vulnerable but truthful. “I, of all, want to be the one to gift you a loved child… and I, of all… want us to be a family…” He only as much as whispers his last words, leaving Thor in stunned silence. “So… if you allow?” Loki asks and with a nod he implies to be released. His newly gained freedom he rewards with a kiss as he dismisses the king’s cape, unfastens his tunic. “You came here to lay with me. And nothing else is my desire,” he mourns against Thor’s lips as graceful fingers caressingly slide down his arms and chest. “Do not assume yourself to be the only one missing…longing…” Loki is well aware of the virtuosity of his hands and not in the slightest bewildered by wounds and frost burns he finds while unwrapping more and more skin. The lesions are unfamiliar to him, not of his own and clearly meant to cause serious damage, but now is not the time to care for them. 

There will be time, after indulging in kisses of hungry lips and touches of needy hands, when soft moans and caressing whispers have towered to urging gasps and the longing to feel sorely missed skin to their own is drowned in surges of reunited lust and frantically clinging to the safety of each other. There will be time, when Thor just holds Loki close. His beloved he feels truly familiar with. His beloved he discovers anew over and over again. When Loki gently caresses all the stricken parts of the body he craves so much. In silence first, before he calmly asks, “Have you seen the healers with these?”

“They are not of much help with these kind of injuries…” Thor answers, shrugging, indifferent. His eyes curiously follow Loki when he raises, lips kiss-swollen, a curtain of black hair falling over his shoulders adorned with marks of his passion, as he intently looks down on Thor. Gentle hands proceed to caress every impaired inch of skin over flesh over muscle. Under the greenish glow they disappear to the prickling sensation of healing skin.

“The others look the same…”

“Brunnhilde does not.” 

Loki’s objection is answered by a staggered, requesting frown. 

“Not anymore. First thing she did was to come to me with these… well, third… after drinking and disgracing this poor maiden,” Loki explains and Thor’s sigh is the only answer he gets, silence tucking them in while rough fingers are run through smooth, black hair, absentmindedly.

“Jötunheim is no easy walk… not even for her,” Thor finally states. “The land is harsh there like the people, you know that. It is cold and dark and hostile and even Jötnar are not save from being slaughtered by Laufey’s men. His death did only worsen this madness. It only strengthened their loyalty. Byleistr and Helblindi are driven by greed and rage and Aesir are welcomed with death threads at the best. Everyone is afraid.” Loki can feel Thor’s touch to his hair, his skin, his warmth. He sees battle hardened muscles under bare skin, shimmering in the shine of everglowing orbs, adorned by wars over wars, leaving their marks. He hears his voice, low and calm, but he feels Thor’s thoughts are elsewhere, his eyes darting through visions of memories, hidden to Loki. “We did come across a bunch of quite rebellious mindsets though. Small groups still, but impressively well organized and fierce. But I take it is not so wise to ally with them if we want peace treaties.” Loki listens to what Thor has to tell. And to everything the silence tells him. For Thor ends here, his eyes searching Loki’s again. The prince takes his time to answer. 

“You can only have peace treaties with the ruling elites, right?” he states. 

“That is exactly what I am saying,” Thor nods. 

“And it would not be wise to mingle with rebels if you want to allure the elites, yes?” Loki asks on. 

“Of course not. You are right, that would not be of any use…” Thor mumbles, immersed in his rearranging thoughts. 

“But it would be wise to cast out a menace, left to die and to harm no more?” Loki goes on when he is certain Thor can follow his trail further along.

“I suppose so…” Thor looks at him, eager to perceive the connection between Loki’s fate and the Jötnar rebels, and already drawing breath to comfort Loki, to tell him, once again, not to believe Odin’s words he chose so gruesome when in anger. To assure him, once again, that his birthright was to be at his side and nothing else. But Loki already continues, choosing his words carefully, but with a witty smile. 

“And yet… I am alive and he is not… and I am at the side of a far wiser and mightier king than Laufey ever was,” he states, a glint of eagerness joining his impish eyebeam. “To be the end of Laufey’s regency one day. As it is destined. Our line will reign over Jötunheim, reunited with the realms. In peace.” 

“Your fetch at the council today didn’t say any of this,” Thor responds, still staggered but so sure now of what to do. A revolution it will be then…

“This is nothing the council needs to hear,” Loki’s lips are adorned with an appeasing smile, his delicate fingers soothingly caressing Thor’s temple. “But I’m flattered you noticed the difference”, he defiantly adds, drawing fine patterns down the king’s face, before he places his kiss and leans his body back down into Thor’s hands, bathing him in spoiling fondling. 

\--

When Thor wakes up he finds himself in a convenient bed for the first time in months. Surrounded by the warmth of a familiar chamber and a soothing sense of safety. A few rays of light, finding their way through narrow windows, are conjuring shimmery reflections cast forth by the strangest kinds of mysterious objects. Some dotting, some dancing over rows and rows of books, interrupted only by snaky wound columns, craved from the same dark wood as the bedframe. This is just what Loki allows to be seen, Thor is certain about that. In the heart of Asgard Loki buried chambers and vaults, invisible to even Heimdall’s eyes, unknown to even the king himself. His gaze searches for Loki, finally finding his delicate back, veiled in finest black silk, thick waves of black hair bound to an untamed braid, muttering at a small, green flame. It is flickeringly dancing on its stone basin, where a huge, black furred Fenris lies calmly breathing in her sleep. How the bright king missed this inglorious chamber. Home. More than ostentatious throne halls or lavish feasting halls or palatial bed chambers ever could be to him. Only for a short moment his eyes dart to the narrow windows, following a screeching noise but catching only the hint of a magpie taking wings. Loki has turned towards him, when his gaze is back at his alluring prince.

“Beautiful birds, aren’t they?” Loki smiles, striding towards the bed, bare feet on cold stone and his delicate gown flowing along swaying hips.

“Thievish,” Thor frowns, unable not to admire the elegance in every single one of Loki’s moves. “Or so it is said.”

“Sage. And cunning,” Loki responds mildly, settling down. “People tend to condemn what they are unable to understand,” he adds and keeps Thor from objecting by placing a kiss on his lips, just to get his own caught and parted by a meddlesome tongue. A firm hand at his neck, a rough thumb caressing a sharp jawline. With the slightest sigh Thor breaks, his gaze severe. “You have been enchanting last night.”

“My, thank you-,“ Loki begins with a charming smile to his lips, but Thor disrupts his playfully attempts to overhear the sincerity in his words.

“No, not this way. I mean. Also this way, of course, but I saw you… doing magic to your body,” Thor protrudes with caution. 

“I am doing magic to my body all the time,” Loki answers light-footed. “This form you see, it is basically magic, you remember that?” 

“Loki… what did you do?” Thor sighs, clearly pointing out what he is driving at. 

“So eager to learn what you do not understand?” Loki swerves, his lips amused but his eyes cherishing Thor’s attempts.

“Indeed, I am,” Thor responds with disarming sincerity. 

“I will be bearing a child for you and that is all you need to know,” Loki finally gives in. “And before asking any more questions, consider if you are willing to bear the answers, my king,” he adds with an ambiguous smile.

“So you really are serious about that?” Thor asks breathlessly, feeling his heart leap into his throat with excitement and with anticipation and with gratitude and love and apprehension… He is used to the thought of battles and wars which he was trained to fight in since he has been a foolish boy. He is used, by now, to the responsibility of reigning over nine realms as a wise king for which no amount of preparation could have made him ready. He is used to the certainty of Loki being there when he returns to Asgard for which he can be only grateful every day anew. But a child…

“Did you think this was just another play pretend to fuel your already burning passion?” Loki teases, snickering over all these mingled expressions he finds on the king’s face before him. 

“I did not think about-“ Thor begins to admit but breaks. “Did it work?” he rather asks with the caution of putting his foot onto frozen waters, his mouth dry and his hand wandering unwittingly along Loki’s side, coming to rest on his perfectly flat stomach. 

“I made it.” Loki answers, gleaming with excited eagerness, intertwining his fingers with Thor’s.  
But when his lips search for Loki’s and his eyes close as he once again enjoys their loving touch, it is Heimdall he sees before him.

“My king…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have realized the haircut? Despite the comic being set somewhere TDW like(?), stylewise I needed some kind of after Ragnarök/IW scenario so Thor comes with cut hair… it’s necessary for the symbolism… change and stuff, you know? >.<  
> Also Loki has changed… panta rhei, ne?
> 
> I want to thank you from the bottom of my suffering heart for giving this a chance and reading so far!  
> I know the chaps are gonna be pretty long which does not make them easier to read but I didn’t want to cut them…  
> (Btw, opinions and corrections are appreciated! but please be kind?^^’’)  
> <3


	2. Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.....
> 
> (and I'm not quite sure if I'm satisfied with this but it just felt like finished no matter how often I reread it so... here we go... *sigh*)

“My king…” 

“What is it?” Thor demands irritated. Heimdall’s callings never bode well.  
“It is urgent… an envoy from Vanaheim.”

Thor has not much time to say his goodbyes that, as always, are joined by sincere apologies and shallow promises of a peaceful era, yet to come. Just enough time for Loki, for he senses the successions of that night far too well. The change in his already so altered body, strange energies surging through him, taking unusual directions. Unknown to him and therefore so much harder to channel than the powers he lived with since he was a small child, he learned to control, to use, the powers he trained and the ones he gained over the years. He knew all along this might become unpleasant for him, hazardous even. But even if he has no conception of what precisely will come for him, he knows it will be worth it. He just has to endure, to contain himself and continue to be the dutiful prince of Asgard. He learned to play this role so well, he must not risk it, so much he is certain of. But as much as he knows he can delude the people of Asgard, he also knows he would never be able to hide from Thor what it really means to carry his child. Not anymore. 

Even less he can hide it from Heimdall. He might be able to find secret passageways and hidden sources of power, but even the God of Mischief cannot conceal such a great amount of magic right under Heimdalls carefully observant eyes. Of course Heimdall knows. He knew very soon after Loki had begun to even prepare for his scheme... 

 

”So what are you going to do now? Trying to stop me? Faithfully telling your king?” the prince had hissed at his attentive guard, when he was caught in the darkest depths of Asgard’s bright palace. Depths only ever known to himself, or so he thought, made to accommodate the dark deeds of desperate souls. “Even if he would know, he will not make me stop this. He is defenseless against this skillfully beguiling tongue of mine, luring him in with sweet words of love and desire… telling him how dearly he needs such a little, squealing bunch. You cannot stop me.”  
“Stopping you is not of my interest,” Heimdall had answered calmly. Unimpressed by Loki, building up his lofty mask, concealing the pounding heart in his chest. Pounding for being caught. For being afraid his plan, his desire, his hope would be put to an end in this very moment. “Too long have the people been waiting for this to end. For you to give way for a woman who will be a faithful wife to their king and to gift to him an heir. You will have your desired child, Loki Odinson, blood of Laufey. You will have your will, paying a high price. You will suffer gruesome torments, for these are powerful forces you arouse. If you will fail to survive, people will be pleased as well. But if you will succeed, you will have done good on Asgard for giving the people the safety of a future heir. One who will succeed to the throne peacfully.”  
“I have endured worse, of that I am certain…”

 

It does not come to Loki as a surprise that morning of Thor’s all too soon departure, when the guard of the Bifröst turns to him the very moment Thor and his allies had left. “Be sure to be watched by me. My eyes will rest on you even more carefully now.”  
“I know…”

\--

“There is no hurry required with this matter. Your presence is not needed. The rebels already got their hands on weapons from Nidavellir. There are a few well trained spies affiliating with them by now and it is said a very skillful revolutionary leader has made an appearance. Time will take its toll and when the rebels are superior, they will remember who is on their side…” 

“You took care of this?” Thor asks frowning. Their correspondences through Loki’s illusions had become troublesomely exhausting lately, his absence and their distance nagging on his patience in moments like this. When he sees Loki in front of him, a sober gaze to his beautiful face and dressed in wide, concealing gowns. When he sees but is unable to touch. When he speaks to his beloved but is well aware of how far away the prince is from him. 

“It does not suit an Aesir prince to meddle in the matters of Jötunheim, my king.” Loki emphasizes with the hint of a mischievous smile to his lips. 

“But it is fitting for an Aesir prince consort to stay calm when talking to his king?” Thor breaks their sober distance, no longer able to bear the talking about strategies and political matters and the ongoing in Asgard but to keep hidden the troubles of his heart. “Without even once complaining? Without even one hint of disappointment?” With a pained expression he searches for any reaction of Loki, for any sign of being hurt, of longing, of the wish to have him back at his side. “I miss you, Loki… I miss you so dearly it hurts and I am so sorry I cannot make it back right now! All these small skirmish and uproars and government crisis of the smallest parts of some realms, tribes I never even heard of and every time we’re through, another one follows and they are keeping me away from you. It’s like jinxed, it’s unnerving-”

“I know…” Loki interjects, his voice calm and soft, “I am in no worry, I can see you, remember that? You are King of Asgard, it is your duty-”

“To Hel with that duty!” Thor exclaims desperately, Loki’s calmness only fueling his fury, “I want to be back with you! I want to know how you are and… be there…” 

“I know…” Loki sighs, as he opens the wide cloak to show a round grown belly he carefully caresses. “We do miss you, too… but it is fine, we are fine… this, too, will have an end, I promise.”

And while he speaks, Thor’s face lights up, he reaches to touch Loki’s bulging middle, to feel the unborn life he carries, but his hand goes right through the flaring image on thin air. With a deep sigh, Thor falls back to the plank that will be his bed today, in a tent, near a battlefield somewhere incredibly far away from Loki. There he sits, face buried in his hands and Loki’s hands twitch, just a moment, before he holds himself back. He cannot get close to Thor, he knows that, despite the unrestrained longing to touch him, to calm him, to take away all this pain he causes… he can’t.

“I have to go now… goodbye, my king…” he breathes hastily and the image blurs, vanishes, just in time as in the prince's chambers also the image shown to Thor fades. Beside it Loki, not more than a feeble, pale shadow of that illusion, collapses to the ground, crouching in agony, his arms wrapped around his unshapely bulging abdomen. Fenris, curled up in the far corner of the room, stands immediately, though heavy footed from her own grown belly, growling at the image that is now appearing in the flames where Thor’s picture just had been seen. 

“Your Aesir body is not able to withstand a growing half Frost Giant…” Heimdall speaks calmly, eyes filled with sorrow but Loki does not pay him even one look.

“Can’t change-… the child… wouldn’t survive…” He huffs, growls in agony and pain, crawling towards the fuming basin in the center of his chambers, wildly shivering. Loki is too well aware the torments will be only slightly bemused in the enchanted water, but he has to get there, his head spinning from nauseating pain with every movement. And as hard as he is forcing his will upon this frail condition, he is merely capable to get himself leaning at the dark, skillfully decorated stone, squirming, unable to drag his shaking body up to reach alleviation. 

“Then why are you lying? Why are you keeping him away?” Heimdall keeps asking.

“What use would it have? What do you think he’d do-… seeing me like this?! Not even you are supposed-… Intruder…” Loki hisses through teeth gritted, to withhold any sound this struggling body tries to wrest from him. Fenris faithfully lays down beside him, huddling her monstrous head comforting to his side, calmly snorting at the bulging middle Loki’s desperately clutching.

“I gave my promise to the king to keep a close look on you.”

“Of what use is that promise? You are sworn-… to obey me, when he’s away! … And you will neither tell nor show him!” Loki presses the words out faltering, trying his hardest to even get them together.

“And if you’d not seal that door, probably you would not have to suffer this alone…” Heimdall sighs. “And someone could help you getting into your bath.”

“I-… certainly don’t need-“, he stubbornly snarls until all of a sudden Loki holds. Holds his breath, his gaze absent from what lays before him, attentive only for these flimsy movements beyond all the pain. Every barbed remark and swift evasion swapped from his mind, his trembling fingers start to wander, frenetically searching, carefully caressing at the same time, feeling for more of this little creature hidden inside him. It’s only a few moments later, when Heimdall’s image has vanished that he allows himself to get totally carried away, sinking heavily shaking against Fenris, curling up into her warm fur…

 

For the first weeks it was cramps and nausea, feeling parts in him sprouting his body was never supposed to allow growth. It was watching over Thor and visiting in shared dreams. But he knows they end nightmarish when he loses concentration. And soon the convulsions of his body and the pain chasing became a too serious distraction.  
As the child grows, he is spitting bile and blood, burning his already sore throat. Albeit, he forces himself to eat. He stretches to his limits and beyond to keep his body nourishing the child. He drains his powers, creating illusions to go out there and be seen as a well and healthy prince of Asgard, even when he is unable to gather the energy to get up. Even though his eyes are bloodshut by tiredness and his cheeks are sunken and his body is becoming bony. Bony and meager, except for an unshapely bulge that cannot be hidden. And on less horrible days he is not only watching but sending out illusions to speak to Thor. When his pain chased mind allows him to focus just long enough to weave the spell.

This becomes harder and harder, the more he is pained by blinding agony, ripping him apart. The more he finds himself drained to no end. By constantly keeping up the powers he evoke. By keeping them up against the mind clouding agony and tiredness. When he is able to sleep, it is not for long before he wakes in anguish and cold sweat.  
It is a dangerous dance he does. At the edge of insanity. But he has suffered worse. Suffered and survived worse without the strings tying him to life and lucidity he has now. Like golden glistening gossamer the thoughts of Thor and his child are unbreakably cocooning him. He draws breath in the few moments the torment and pain is benumbed by the sensation of the little being moving inside of him and he is deluged with gratitude, urged on by the thrill of anticipation…

\--

The pace in which demands are reaching Thor and his comrades is staggering. On and on it goes without a break, keeping him busy, mind and body, his duty dragging him from realm to realm. His duty and his destine. An honor and a privilege. This is what he was born for and more even it is what he longs to do. To care for the realms. By debating, by mediating, by advising, by deciding and ruling and fighting battles to restore balance. To find peace. Of course he seeks advice from Loki whenever he is visited by the prince’s reflection. He can trust Loki to send them whenever he is in need of counsel but occasions become scarcer with time going by and it does nothing for the desperate desire to just be home again that creeps into his chest at rare calm moments, in the middle of the night or when he is greeted by yet another sovereign, another liege, another mayor or general and their families.  
As much as he despises the thought of people of the realms he is entrusted being endangered, being harmed, he comes to favor the armed conflicts. He can just whack his way through them. His body is performing effortlessly and his mind too busy to contemplate, his heart too filled with the pleasure of being taken up in fighting to ache, when he is wielding swords and casting lightning. It is in the middle of fighting back a division of a miniscule but gruesome violent brotherhood, terrorizing peaceful Elves’ villages of Alfheim, that he is ripped out of his alleviating dance by Heimdall’s voice resounding in his head. 

“My king!” 

“What is it Heimdall? I’m busy!” He grunts, annoyed, turning easily and pulling his lips to the slightest grin when he sees two Elves crashing into each other.

“It is the prince, my king.” The moment Heimdall mentions Loki, Thor’s grin comes off, anguish hitting his heart with cold shock and he’s missing another one, coming from above, just in time stricken by Brunnhilde who’s casting him a questioning gaze.

“What is it with Loki? I told you to watch over him!” Thor growls, clinging to the last hope there is in him it might be not a fatal message Heimdall delivers. 

“The child. You need to come here.” And his eyes become wide, awestricken and an attacking Elf is swiped away by a merely instinctive punch of his fist just a moment before getting at him.  
Brunnhilde’s gaze is no less irritated by the sudden change of the king’s fighting. “Loki?!” is the only question she aims.

“OPEN THE BIFRÖST!”  
Thunder is roaring, wind howling to tremendous lightning and that is all the answer Brunnhilde needs. “Fuck! Heimdall! Take me, too!”

 

“His chambers,” Heimdall greets them and the king is already storming towards the palace, followed by Heimdall while the Valkyrie chooses a different direction. Thor does not care, nor does he wonder and when he reaches Loki’s chambers Heimdall is still at his heels. The smell of blood and forewaters and despair is breathtakingly present in the dim lit room he is so used to. A golden glow surrounds the bed of his beloved and despite Thor’s heart is racing and his head is spinning and his guts are nauseous he forces himself to stay calm when careful steps bring him further to Loki, laying there, just a hollow shadow of the phantom that paid him visits. Collapsed. Face sunken. Blueskinned…  
Heimdall’s voice is calm and warm and soothing when he begins to tell Thor what he was forbidden to speak about for months, to answer unspoken questions. “He tried everything to appear as normal as possible, even if this meant pain and danger to his body. He used powerful, ancient magic and his shapeshifting, but it was a far too high burden for his body… staying in his Asgardian male form, carrying a child, half Frost Giant, constantly keeping up the powerful magic to let this child grow in him, to nourish it.” Heimdall’s speaking fills the screaming silence and Thor can only guess Heimdall witnessed all of this, saw it, sensed it at least and it does nothing but feed the storm of thoughts and emotions that rages within Thor’s head and heart. “He proceeded to withdraw from the sight of Asgard’s people. It was told he had fallen ill… and when it must have been too much to bear, for his powers, his body and his mind, the child nearly tore him apart. We heard his screams but he had sealed his whereabouts with spells, too powerful by far for anyone to bypass. And when the barriers fell, we found his torn body, and the child, not like Aesir children, not quiet Frost Giant, almost too small to live… the healers did everything within their capabilities to save them but his body was altered to such high degrees and there are so many confounded powers, they could not do much for him but stasis… he sleeps now.”

Thor’s lets him speak as a harsh wind howls around the palace, clashing hard rain against the walls and windows. His hand, tainted by dirt and blood, disturbs the golden gleaming that is surrounding his beloved. Shaking, hesitantly he caresses damp skin, brittle, but not dead cold, leathery and of such a pale blue shade as if it was unable to decide which form to take. His fingertips follow the patterns of fine lines adorning the sharp features of the face he knows so well, even in this form, that still appears so strange to him now. His head is shaking in disbelieve, his jaw clenched with rage and pain and fear, breathing heavy and as his eyes abruptly break away from this torture drawn but still so handsome face, seemingly peacefully sleeping, his hand darts to the cover all the same. Before he can pull back what disguises the true condition of this delicate body that has endured so much, that always seemed so fragile but he took for unbreakable, Heimdall’s hand stops his. “Don’t, my king…”

So Thor halts, looking daggers at this man he trusted with watching over his most precious treasure before he turns away. “What about the child?”

“A girl… she is well…” Heimdall explains gently gesturing at a cradle of dark wood beside the bed, barely to be seen in the twilight of Loki’s chambers. With hasty steps he rounds the bed, not daring to lay his eyes on the little creature that is hidden beneath dark wood and white cloth, oddly familiar to him. “Leave,” Thor breathes. Heimdall obeys.

It takes the brave God sheer eternal moments until he finds the heart to peek into the cradle that is holding the tiny one. His child. It is the smallest face he finds there, as he carefully swipes away the fabric, and at the same time the most beautiful. He finds pale skin in the most amazing shade of lilac he has ever seen and bright blue eyes, blinking weary at the source of the sudden attention, the tiny head covered with the slightest bloom of blond hair. In awe he marvels at the fine golden lines that shimmer all over face and tiny hands, drawing the most delicate patterns, in which he recognizes Loki’s marks so well. His fingers look huge, rugged, dirty and everything but worthy as he touches this small wonder with utmost caution. His hands are trembling when he takes this fragile, tiny child into his arms. His child. Loki’s child. Their daughter. 

All of a sudden Thor’s head jerks up, alarmed by movement. There is someone or something, somewhere in the darkness that is hiding most of the room, Thor senses it even if he cannot see, instantly pressing the tiny body closer, protective to his chest. For a few moments he stands there, waiting in tensed anticipation until he recognizes Fenris lurking, approaching. 

“What do you want?” he asks, his hoarse voice merely a threating growl that is answered by determined eyes, laid on the child in his arms, coming closer. “Stop! Stay away!” he snarls at the giant black wolf but she does not show the slightest hint of hesitation. 

“Stay! Back away, stupid dog!” Thor barks, the child squealing. Fenris growls, fetches her sharp teeth, her gaze at the child and still approaching crouched but with menacing straight tail and ears bound forward with tension. “Leave! Go! Don’t you dare to touch her!” Thor growls not less minatory, forging forward just a few steps, bulking up, his eyes dangerously glowing and flashes of blue light emerging his skin, as lightning strikes and thunder rolls over Asgard. 

“Don’t!” Brunnhilde yells at him, bolting in breathless, wet to the bones, a red-haired maiden following her. Thor’s seen her somewhere but he does not recall where and he does not care. “Give it to her! Just do it!” The Valkyrie demands while the maiden just needs an approving nod and a heavy bag tossed at her to hurry over to Loki.

“What do you know! Stay away! All of you!” Thor thunders desperately, not knowing where to look, where to go, who to attack first, clutching the tiny, squirming bundle even tighter, fragile and lost in these bulky arms, against his broad chest.

“More than you, probably!” Brunnhilde yells at him but herself not moving, realizing Thor’s bewilderment, his hesitation and desperate panic, taking a deep breath. “Listen,” she begins to explain, with her voice forced to calmness. She shakes the tension from her limbs, quenching at least her own expression, before she takes up Thor’s gaze again. “Loki talked to me about this, so please, just give it to Fenris. It’s Loki’s child, she would never ever hurt him- or her…it… anyway, just do it and everything will be just fine…”

And while she speaks, Fenris settles down, sensing the king’s surrender, calmly, upright and tail down she turns, plodding to a shadow hidden alcove. Her place, Thor knows. But it is only when she lays down he realizes two whimpering cubs, blindly sniffing, searching for their mother’s teats. Her huge tongue lovingly licks their tiny heads as they start to suckle greedily. Jaw clenched and eyes stern still he follows, lays the crying, kicking child to her side, carefully supporting the tiny head. But his hand is cautiously shoved aside by Fenris’ snout when the little mouth starts to imitate the cubs, small hands twitching and clutching. 

Thor can hear Brunnhilde exhale and his gaze wanders to the red-haired maiden, now bowing over Loki’s body, covers fold back, and all kinds of strange instruments and elixirs spread around her. With a stern and concentrated look on her face and rolled up sleeves she is examining the wounds he is not allowed to see. His gaze falls on the Valkyrie again who is vigilant watching the scene. “She knows what she’s doing.” Her assurance does nothing to calm Thor. “More than your oh so noble healers, they don’t know shit about this but there’s a reason they call midwifes witches, you know?!”

“I suppose he talked to you about her, too,” Thor grunts and turns to leave, jaw and fists clenched so hard miniscule flashes are dancing on his skin again. Without another word he stomps out. 

“Still would be easier if you’d have told me this is about the Jötunn prince,” he hears the maiden speak.

“Oops, forgot to mention. You got a problem with that?”

“No. But he will, if you do not move your idle rump over here and help me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm…you know the tale of Romulus and Remus, right? >.< (it's probably not that important, mainly the 'wolf feeds godbabies' idea^^)
> 
> but let me take you on a walk about cornflowers…as a symbol… cause I can't shut up about that stuff^^''  
> So besides the political meaning (which is pretty interesting, too, you should google that!) we’ve got stuff like faith, fidelity, loyalty, purity and confidence, wealth, pride and an abundance of good fortune.  
> They’re saying “I won’t lose hope, even if you reject me, I won’t give up fighting for you” (which is pretty romantic and also pretty encroaching but we all know that’s actually what Loki needs from Thor… the reassurance he will stay at his side, over and over again, no matter how far he pushes him… never said they do have a downright healthy relationship, but they’re working on it?) and they were worn as bridal wreaths.  
> Probably the part I like the most: they’re also seen as a symbol of (German?) romanticism. You probably heard of the mysterious “blaue Blume” (blue flower), being the epitome of “Sehnsucht” (yearning, longing… I don’t know if these words even nearly grasp the meaning of “Sehnhsucht”)? God I’m such a sucker for this period TT______TT  
> And well, you cannot deny they stand out…in a field full of corn, they are seen and one could take them for weed among the corn or for the most beautiful abomination within these dutiful but dull plants…
> 
>  
> 
> (also I like to imagine Jötunn Babys are probably growing much faster than human or Aesir? It would totally make sense to not burden Jotnar woman for any longer than necessary cause life is already pretty rough and dangerous in this world and as soon as the baby is out there, someone will care for it, no matter what happens to the mother? (unless you're Loki >.<)… so… we won’t need to let them suffer for nine months… but I guess five to half a year is still hard enough… especially when your body is not able to adapt to the pace of the baby growing… right? TT____TT  
> Oh gosh I’m trying so hard to talk myself out of the mess I did here >.<)
> 
>  
> 
> And again, thanks for reading!
> 
> It will get better, I promise 
> 
> <3


	3. Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> behold the cheesiness! This was totally not intended to get THAT sappy but it just…happened... somehow? *sigh*

The great throne hall of Asgard lies abandoned in darkness that night. It is hosting the king alone, stripped off his armor and clad in simple clothes of linen and leather. Washed off are dirt and blood, but his expression is not likewise clean of pain and sorrow. His mind is far from diluting the picture of Loki. Torn. Fallen. His very life in the hands of a Valkyrie and a stranger. Restless he was unable to stay and wait in his own chambers. For what message he does not even know. He roamed the palace, eager to do something, anything! His body urging to move, to relieve the tension. He had been desperately close to get back into armor, get back to the battlefield – any would do! At least there he would be needed. Of use. He found himself unable to leave. Unable to set a foot out of the palace’s walls. Equally unable to steer his pace even near the hallway to Loki’s chambers. Restlessness guided his steps to the vast windows gazing over the realm entrusted to him.

“My king. There’s tidings from Alfheim.” Thor halts as Heimdall dares to intrude the hall that is wisely avoided by attendants as well as counsellors, the air dangerously charged. “The brotherhood is struck back, our warriors are well but concerned about their king,” the loyal envoy goes on.

Thor’s gaze is upon Asgard still. Covered in darkness and heavy rain it lays to his feet and the roaring of furious winds and thunderous waters pouring over the golden city is the only sound that is heard. Heimdall stands still, waiting. Thor stands still equally, jaw and fists grinding.  
“You knew.” Thor finally speaks up through gritted teeth. Thunder is rolling while lightning brightens the vast hall for only a brief moment. “Why did you let it happen?”

“He forbade me to reach out for you. And you, my king, bound me to the prince’s commands,” Heimdall answers, his voice calm and steady, unimpressed by the bitter huff he earns. “And if the prince takes the sacrifice of his health or even his life as worthy bargain for a child, with what right would I be to intermeddle?”

“Since when do you care for commands?!” Thor rises up, fists hurtled up in desperate fury, the next moment colliding with massive stone columns and they tremble under the force of thunder and lightning striking. “How can you just stand and watch and witness this-… this MADNESS and do nothing!?” Thor spits his grief at his most loyal guard, lets anger lead, just for a weak moment before he contains himself, growling in agony, burying his hands in his short hair, clutching his spinning head. “Why would he-…” Thor breaks, in desperation to contain the useless blame. “He’s got everything…”

“Thor… my king…” Heimdall’s voice stays calm against the king’s uproar. “There is loneliness buried deep in the prince’s heart. It breeds desire to belong. People respect him, as this is your commands, but they do not trust him. They avoid him. He still is the God of Mischief and a master of lies. He still is a Frost Giant. They still do remember times when he was a lethal threat to Asgard,” he hesitantly recounts what his eyes sensed for a long time now. “A child means hope, does it not?” 

“Hope?” Thor huffs. “Through lies? When it means his-… at the cost of his life?” He growls but Heimdall stays silent. “Then tell me… what does that child mean to you? What do you see in her?”

“I see a child, conceived of love and born to caring parents. A legit heir to the throne of Asgard as well as to the Jötnar. A great burden carrying hope for peace.”

\--

With a sudden gasp Loki awakes, shaken, bathed in cold sweat, his eyes stricken with panic the moment he opens them, flinching over piercing pain.

“By all Norns, I thought they put him to sleep properly!” A voice reaches Loki’s ears, distant and nervous but the meaning of the words spoken does not intrude his mind. “Talking about healers! Do something!” Another voice, demanding. Brunnhilde, he recognizes in the foggy swirl of impressions unable to grasp.

“My child!” he spits out the only thought he is able to grasp and desperately clinging to, moaning in agony as he is struggling to move his body, to look for it. “Fenris…” 

“It’s well… she’s feeding her,” the maiden explains and Loki lets his head roll back, heavily breathing still and shaking though the pain yields to a billow of numbness descending over his body. 

“Her?” he asks, the flash of a tormented smile hushing over his lips, his eyes darting, but they find nothing but darkness and blurred faces bending over him. 

“It’s a girl,” Brunnhilde states, grinning. “High quality junior staff material.”  
Another wave of excruciating pain seizes his body, wresting his mind but he stems against unconsciousness with all he has left. “Thor…” merely a whisper leaves his sore throat. 

“He’s here,” the Valkyrie answers but her grin fades and there’s no declining in Loki’s distress.  
“But you need to sleep now, Prince Loki,” the other one interrupts, soothingly swiping her hand over his eyes.

\--

Sloppy steps are striding through the great, deserted throne hall as dawn rises, turning the lightning seared darkness over Asgard into grey floods of rain from an ocean of dark clouds, ripped and storm chased. 

“Here you are,” Brunnhilde exclaims, giving a yawn as she slumps down on the cold stone floor beside the king, close enough for him to smell clean clothes, damp hair and liquor. He only looks up when she impatiently bumps a bottle at his chest. “Congrats on the baby, your Majesty.” He takes the bottle from her hand as she greedily swallows of her own. 

“I’m not intending to get besotted.” He takes a sip nonetheless. 

“Well I am. Your loverbrother caused a pretty ugly mess,” she states, leaning back onto her elbows, stretching out her legs, hand still at the neck of her bottle. 

Thor remains silent, his gaze stern and his back crouched. He takes another sip, mustered by the Valkyrie.

“Don’t be salty, big king, believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted to see this,” she talks on, patting his back and almost tilting backwards while doing so. “You think you’re that great hero guy that’s seen everything but you have no idea of what a baby can do to a body and you won’t wanna see your lover ripped apart and-“

“How is he now?” He interjects and she’s taken aback for a moment, snorting to a crooked grin.

“Well, somewhere between life and death? Probably a li’l closer to life though… Freya’s done amazing. Sleeping there now, just in case. I mean – by all Norns! He wanted me to keep you occupied with that pretty little chaos he’d shake up, cause he didn’t want you around when he’s like going crazy pregnant and all suffering and blah”, she babbles, pointing a finger and rolling her eyes, “but he didn’t tell nothing about this being a fucking suicide mission. For real, you’ve been damn close to being a single Daddy,” she’s poking her finger to his chest, before rising her bottle again. “Skol to your princess…-es…” She exclaims, clinking her bottle against his and then empties it in one gulp. “Let me train her, honestly, she’s got that Jötunn blood, mixed up with yours, she’s gonna be the best fighter EVER! That’s gonna be a-,” she begins to brag but Thor again disrupts the distracting talking. 

“She can be trusted?”

“Your kid?” She asks with a puzzled look but goes on shrugging, “Well with these Loki genes dunno- oh… you mean Freya? Totally! Absolutely!” The Valkyrie nods affirming.

“And he apparently trusted you with this…” The king sighs, swallowing down bitterness with liquor. 

“I guess licking each other’s wounds somehow comes with this lone wolves stick together thing, ain’t it?” she suggests shrugging. “And some people you better have as friends than foes, even if his mind is reeeeaally twisted at some times,” she continues, circling her finger at her temple and Thor loses track of her blathering as she goes on and on and on…

“He always followed his own paths,” Thor mumbles as the thunderstorm ebbs away, leaving heavy rain falling from thick clouds that hang deep over Asgard, hiding everything from even the smallest ray of sun.

\--

Thor’s head is still heavy, his mind clouded and swirling, skin pallid and the shadows that settled under exhausted eyes are dark and deep when he is pushed into Loki’s chambers by Brunnhilde the next day. “C’mon, don’t be shy,” she teases easily, chuckling, “Freya doesn’t bite and your little prince is not in the state to. Dunno what Fenris is up to, though…”

She earns a strict shush as soon as they find themselves engulfed in unusual fumes of burned herbs, pinched by sharp ointments. Thick haze is wafting over the great stone basin, white cloth floating in the water and Thor does not dare to raise his eyes to the dark alcove he knows he would find Loki in, still sleeping. His gaze darts around numerous bins and jars and boxes spread on the floor. To the shelves that cover the walls, supposed to tidily store books and cases, to the heavy desk which is usually neatly arranged, now covered in a clutter of ingredients and instruments. “What-” he begins, lost for words at this defilement and his glare reaches Freya, finding her kneeing over Loki. Bend down and with rolled up sleeves the midwife is tucking soaked cloth, clutching to his exposed body, stained by crimson streaks. “What have you done?! How dare you-,” he finally roars, cut off by a squeal resounding from the cradle. Helplessly upset he stands paralyzed, while Brunnhilde just rolls her eyes as she folds her arms, mumbling displeased swears about the woken child and Freya raises, wiping a lose strand of ginger hair from her sweaty forehead. She casts a demanding look at the Valkyrie who grudgingly strides towards the child, to take it into swaying arms at least. “Don’t you dare! With what right-?!” Thor stammers and his daughter equally continues her protest.

“Using his stuff is what I did and be glad so. The prince does own material of much higher value than I could ever afford. Comes down to far richer virtue,” Freya explains while descending the bed and adjusting her clothes. “Especially these Jötunheim cornflowers… did not know they still grow there, it is told everything is long gone under Laufey’s consumption,” she goes on, realizing the even more devastated glance to Thor’s eyes so she hurries to expound, “He could be dead by now if I had left them untouched. You are very welcome.” Her voice is kind and soft, despite the weight of her words and Thor falls into abashed silence as Brunnhilde also thrusts the child into his arms. 

Averting her gaze, his eyes dart to the child and then to his sleeping beloved and the women just leave him standing there, absentmindedly swaying his tiny daughter. Even as the squealing calms, Thor continues to stare at Loki’s torn body. Torn and tortured to give the life that is flailing in his arms now…

“I am sorry,” he breathes all of a sudden and Freya, working cloth in the hot water, raises her head as well as Brunnhilde, watching her cross-legged while she is patting Fenris’ head, teasing her to low growls whenever her hand playfully darts towards the cubs. 

“Dear Freya,” he speaks with grave voice, head bowed in shame like a small boy once did under the mild eyes of his mother, soothing his little baby brother he had stolen from the save cradle to show him the palace, not knowing a baby is a delicate thing to handle and far from anticipating the uproar he might cause by its vanishing. Without a reproachful word she had made him understand his doings and the consequences. Calm and kind even the time she had been sitting at Loki’s sickbed. Thor had been taking him, although he knew Loki had barely been able to hold his balance on a horseback and worse even, he had enjoyed finding Loki anxiously clinging onto him. Indeed, he had been driven by all the best intentions to share the thrills of a good adventure with his beloved little brother. Still his undertaking was destined to be peaked by all the worst outcomes and was nearly paid with Loki’s life. Like too many of his splendid ideas. By his father he has never been scolded for these kinds of adventures. Not until they had walked in on Jötunheim… But he remembers Loki to be reprimanded with furious yelling and punishments way too harsh for his delicate soul to bear. For offences like sneaking into chambers not meant for him to intrude, for deciphering mysteries he ought not to know as well as for witty shenanigans…

“Please accept the sincere apologies for the manners of a troubled soul that do not suit a worthy king. I yield you immeasurable gratefulness in place of accusations. You will have everything you need, for now and the future and I hope you were treated well by the palace,” Thor ruefully concludes his apology.

“Oh, do not be concerned about that, you are not the first overwhelmed father I encounter,” Freya answers with a mild smile. “Be certain Hilde did take care of me just fine. But I suppose your desire was to learn how to care for them, so arise and take action. Swaddling will not be done by words,” she adds grinning, clapping her hands demandingly. 

Thor is shown and learns quickly the simple tasks he can do for his child and his beloved. How to change and bath the little one. How to hold her when she cries from an aching belly and how to sooth her to sleep. How she should be held and how she should be laid down and how to not fear hurting such a tiny fragile being. 

Thor also does what he is allowed to care for Loki. Not once he is discarding the stern look to his face though, when he dabs sweat to no ending or carries Loki’s limp body over to the nourishing baths Freya provides or when he seizes brittle hands while she weaves powers unknown to him to help calm the mayhem that whirls within his beloved. 

It’s only when his gaze falls upon the peaceful face of his child, her tiny fingers curving and opening, sometimes even around his own ones, or her feet lively kicking, that his face lightens up and he nuzzles his treasure tighter to his chest. And when she is asleep, he carefully lays her to Loki’s side, spending his nights there as well. 

Regardless to whatever kind of demands or tidings are trying to reach him, the king is rarely seen outside the shady chambers, while never ending drizzling rain continues to fall wearingly over Asgard… 

\--

Warmth… floating within unconscious.

Weight presses upon him. The heaviness of an infinite void.

Pain. Dull, throbbing. To the rhythm of his beating heart. To the song of his lungs drawing shallow breaths. Not merely his own. His head rolls and he listens. There is another rhythm. Another breathing… 

Darkness as his eyes flicker open. Golden shimmering lines as his sight clears. Awareness… of a small bundle beside him. Guarded by a vast frame. 

Thor. His child. And the rhythm quickens and the pain is piercing and his hand is held down by the invisible force of its own weight. And when he finally forces his limp to move, when it is reaching out for what he longs for, he watches a blue, marked hand grab for his child and he recoils and fright fills his eyes as he looks at his hands, his arms, clutching his fingers to his face, the slightest movements costing highest efforts but fear wrests them from his body. Even if he cannot see the shade of his skin, he can feel the marks under his trembling fingers. Agonized he presses his eyes shut and tries to change, tries to get back to what he is used but where once he had felt endless wells of powers to wind and weave, there is nothing left but a meager runlet, barely enough to tie him to life, threatened to be strangled by piercing panic – _breathe!_ Deeply he soaks in air to his hurting lungs. He knew how much he dared. He lives. The child lives. That is more than he could have hoped for. Both of them breathing. Once again he harkens for the chants of faint forces, barely palpable but still there. Enough to grow… to spring and to blossom again… with time… The gentle touch of a warm breeze kisses his child goodnight before sleep has him back. 

\--

A deep hum vibrates through the pain and aching. Loki senses light before he opens his lids, blinking against the sudden brightness. He feels warm furs beneath his skin and silky bedsheets and he perceives fumes conversant to him as well as unknowns and he rolls his head again for the source of the humming. A smile hushes to his lips when his eyes find the silhouette of Thor against a narrow window, swaying to the tune of his low song, handed on by their mother. The child in his arms. 

Loki opens his mouth but no sound leaves his sore throat and it is not until Fenris rises up and cocks her ears and cranes her neck at the unexpected movement that Thor turns and his gaze follows the wolf’s. 

“Loki!” Thor gasps. He spurts to reach the prince with only a few bounding strides and falls on his knees beside the bed, taking his hand, brittle, shade and delicacy of the cornflower’s petals, resting weakly in his own as he grazes it with a kiss, once again breathing the name of his beloved.

“My king…” Loki croaks, barely hearable as his head rolls to the side. Dry, chapped lips are adorned with a smile while crimson eyes lovingly watch over Thor’s worshipping and the small bundle that still is held in his arm. 

“Loki… how are you?” Thor asks, overwhelmed and hastily searching for Loki’s gaze again and while Loki tries his hardest to whisper a faint “…alive…” Thor halts, gets up abruptly and beds the child to the cradle. The smile fades from Loki’s lips as Thor turns away and his eyes do not dare to follow the nervous moves. They flutter shut with a shaking sigh but dart open again as Loki feels the bed sink under the weight of the king and before he grasps what happens to him he feels piercing pain flashing through his body as Thor’s arm raises his torso, a goblet to his other hand. “Here… drink this. Freya said it will help,” Thor explains but Loki presses his lips shut with all he has left. “She says it’s for the pain and it will help you heal,” Thor emphasizes, gently pushing the cold metal of the goblet to his lips but Loki tilts his head away. So Thor hesitates, searching Loki’s reactions with eyes full of concern and confusion. “This will be all right… it is safe… I assure you,” he tries again. “Brunnhilde trusts her and Freya has taken care of you very well. So please drink.” 

The prince still hesitates, his eyes shut again and frowning with concentration, inhaling the scent before he dares to get his lips bedewed and his tongue to taste what is offered to him. He allows a small sip to run down his aching throat and waits, for what sensation he is not sure. But he is certain of the soothing the bitter drink offers his throat and the warm relieve spreading through the heavy emptiness and an urge to drink on. So he gulps down until they find the goblet empty and only then his eyes dart to Thor again. And from Thor to the child. Impatiently. Accompanied by the faint gesture of his delicate fingers, reaching out for her. 

The king is lost for words when he lays their daughter into the arms of his beloved. Her bearer. Alive. Alive as the most unusual kind and gentle and loving glance of these crimson glowing eyes…

“I have not seen you crying since… the last time I died…” The slightest smile to hoarse words. 

“Don’t waste your vigours for mockery…” Thor sighs, wiping his eyes. “You almost did die! Irretrievable this time! And I have not been there-… I didn’t take care-… I am so sorry I was not here…” Words eager to be spoken break out of the king all at once. There is sincerity to them. Regret. More than Loki would like to hear. Remembering him of the price not only he had to pay. 

“I am the one to be sorry… It was my doing alone… and you were not even ought to know…” he admits, anxiously lowering his gaze and cradling his child closer to his chest. He knew what he dared from the very moment his heart gave birth to this most outrageous whish. He knew of the gamble his mind did cosset. He is ready for everything that might follow now. May it be accusations, harsh words or repulse. Ready to give in to the pain still raging through his body. He deserves all of it. “Not until I succeeded and I arranged-”, he begins, cut off by Thor. 

“I know…” Loki’s eyes dart upwards full of fear as Thor speaks, not even looking at him. “You have been sleeping for three days,” he explains. “I was told everything I have to know… I suppose. So as far as I know you did betray your king. You sowed chaos and endangered not only yourself. You made a fool out of me for running after hollow baits only to defraud me of my right and my duty to care for you. You almost took what is most dear to me… and you did so to give the greatest gift of all…” His eyes are full of kindness when they meet Loki’s gaze again and a sigh leaves his lips, before he dares to ask the only question he needs Loki to answer. “Just tell me… why, Loki? Why all of this? Every ordinary woman could have carried a child for us… you could surely have arranged-” 

“Don’t,” Loki softly intercepts, “…don’t you know?” he asks hesitantly but his gaze steady, imploring, searching for reactions, before he goes on. “Every woman who as much as dares to lay an eye on you-… they would have conceived my dagger to their heart… before there had even been a chance for your child to be conceived by the womb of another’s,” he finally answers and his gaze breaks away when he becomes aware of the deadly sobriety his eyes are unable to hide. “I had to do it myself… I am sorry… you had to be hurt…”

“Don’t be…” Thor tells him, taking a deep breath. A feeble attempt to stay calm to such words. “I knew who I chose when I chose you, did I not?” he states, a crooked smile on his lips but he carefully affirms the sincerity of his words with a gentle thumb brushing Loki’s cheek and a kiss to his forehead.

“You still do not despise me…” Loki breathes, stunned, shaken. 

“How could I?” Thor smiles, “When I am only beginning to learn how to cherish you well.” He presses another kiss, to Loki’s lips this time, before he takes him into his arms, carefully not to hurt his still fragile body. And Loki leans in and clings to the child in his arms and bites his tongue not to make a sound that pain, mellowed but still there, chased by every movement, tries to wrest from him. Thor nestles his chin into black hair as he tucks his beloved to his chest, feeling Loki’s tension ease. 

“She has mother’s eyes…” Loki states after minutes of breathing and focusing on all the wondrous patterns on his newborn’s skin and the warmth of Thor’s embrace, distracting him from his own aching body. 

“Indeed… she does…” Thor agrees. “What do you think of ‘Sól’?” 

\--

It takes weeks until the soaring pain is eased enough it does not make Loki flinch and nauseous to get up. Weeks add up to a month until his legs can carry their own weight for more than just a few tottering steps. Another one until Loki is seen roaming the palace again, a squirming little child hold tight in his arms and Thor always at his side – quite often caught with a bright smile again, retelling heroic deeds and curious encounters Loki still finds most entertaining. Frequently they are seen accompanied by Fenris and two frolic wolflings. 

Merely a fleeting moment compared to their seemingly eternal lives but every moment feels like an eternity for Thor while he has to witness Loki struggling. Time enough for tales to ascend the soaked ground like the thick fog enshrouding Asgard. Stories are whispered under the veil of white haze, of monsters finding their way into the palace, about demons seizing hold of the royal couple. Rumors are caught by eager ears like pearls of dew adorning spider’s webs, about the abomination of a child, about the dangerous and dark magic the prince conjures, about signs of a new Ragnarök even, evoked by the children of the demonic wolf. Words are spread like rays of a hidden sun turning the tiny droplets into glistening diamonds and ghostly shadows of rainbows, saying the king neglects his duties, saying the prince strives to take over, saying Jötunheim is invading from within. Like the sun, milky shining through the thick mist, the ongoing of the palace is sensed, but no certain tidings reach the ground and demands are getting louder, screaming for extradition, execution even, trial at the least. 

“Where people are kept in the dark, they begin to imagine monsters,” Heimdall states when he gives his report. “They demand to see the king they put their faith on.” 

“Our Everglow did not have a naming, yet…” Loki mentions. 

“It may be time to share our sun,” Thor finally agrees. 

So arrangements are made for a great feast. And as the fog lifts and the skies clear up, different voices are rising, excited, eager even to see the child and to hear the news, to gain clarity. 

The sublime arcades of Asgard’s palace are bathed in bright sunlight when the naming of a princess is announced. The people of Asgard are invited to greet her with warm welcomes and best wishes. Curious above all they flock towards the palace and gather at the vast courtyard, eagerly waiting to catch a glimpse of the wondrous child and its parents. To see their king and his prince consort about which was said so much but of whom was seen so less… is it true the prince has born this child? Is it half Jötunn indeed? Does it have gleaming red eyes and blue skin, horns like the Jötnar of their fairytales, like it is told the prince has been seen like lately? And may the king be enchanted, as some still suspect? What would they wear? Some of them still remember the naming of Thor, the splendid garments of Odin and Frigga, exalted even and then the naming of Loki that came as a surprise and had been held in modesty and sobriety…

“You still do not want to go back?” Thor asks, concerned and cautious, while his rough fingertips follow a fine line on Loki’s fair cornflower shaded face. So right to him, familiar, though he had expected Loki’s skin to be soft and of pale rose again as soon as he regained his strengths. It did not. Loki did not let it. And Thor did not mind, to the contrary, seeing blue skin so similar to the finest flowers, touching the sublime marks adorning his face and body, it felt like a secret Loki shared with him, like he had shed a long worn mask, a layer of old skin. But Thor is of two minds about sharing this secret with everyone in just a few moments. With his people, crowded just outside the heavy palace’s gates, who he wants to partake on his delight but who would in no way know how to cherish the honor they were accorded. With people whose cheers could praise them and whose blessings could prosper to future fortune just as well as their thoughts could sow doubts and discord and their words could hurt. Could hurt Loki and Sól…

“Sól does not shift. So to what purpose should I?” Loki answers, smiling, searching for Thor’s eyes to meet his, to distract him from the sorrows he senses within the king. He had been through worse. Their judging was not new to him and he knows he can endure it. Monsters were only scary in the uncertainty of night. 

“Is she supposed to shift?” Thor asks, his eyes darting from Loki to the child in his arms, searching for the slightest signs of change in her skin tone that since her birth had stayed the most precious shade of lilac, like the dawning skies of a foggy morning, or in her beaming eyes that resembled her grandmother’s so well, or in the way she fidgeted her little hands like all babies do. She is growing fast and he discovers new treasures every day, but not the slightest trace of shapeshifting…

“I do not know…” Loki answers, his gaze following Thor’s every reaction and a bright smile sneaks to his lips. “I suppose she is not.”  
She does not. Not when they step out into the bright sunlight and neither when Loki puts her down on the ground, nor when Thor picks her up, examining her appearance and her flawlessness, as the custom prescribes. Not as he sits her on his lap and not as she is sprinkled with water and gifted a set of artfully crafted bow and arrow by Brunnhilde, and not as her name is proclaimed to the jubilant people of Asgard:

Sól, Princess of Asgard, born of Prince Loki of Asgard, Odinson of the blood of Laufey, as daughter to King Thor of Asgard, Odinson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks sooo much for reading this far and working through such a long chapter again!!  
> I thought about splitting it up but... nah, it didn't work for me...
> 
>  
> 
> About the naming ceremony: as far as I know the gifting actually takes place after the naming… but… I wanted to end with the name so, shame on me. But you know what really hit me when I researched that? The child is not considered part of the family or worth anything until this rite. So it’s totally okay to cast an ‘unfitting’ or weak child out to die somewhere in the wilderness. Or on an icy rock. So… this is what actually happened to Loki?! I’m crying, guys! But Odin picked him up and gave him a name… no matter what mistakes or fatal decisions he made as a father, if you look at it this way he saw him fitting and worth of living and of belonging to his family...
> 
>  
> 
> Also yeah, you got me there, I just needed a shade of blue that describes the skin color I have in mind without having to write 'blue’ every time xD that’s how the cornflower came in, actually… but it fitted so perfectly^^''
> 
>  
> 
> So all that will follow now is a veeery long epilogue cause I can't shut up about Sól...  
> I also could not keep myself from squeezing my backstory ideas into an awfully abridging oneshot that will also be up, soon ^^’’
> 
>  
> 
> Of course I still appreciate opinions as well as being informed about mistakes!


	4. Everglow - Tales of Sun and Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And they lived happily ever after._   
>  _That’s how stories end, right?_   
>  _Except for… every story’s end is another one’s beginning..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention attention!  
> Major narrative style change ahead... be warned, that's just a pretty long epilogue^^

Sól is perfect. Like a precious flower, like the clear blue skies, like the bright sun. 

For Thor she is. For Loki as well. 

For Asgard she came as a mystery at the best, as misery at the worst. But even wary Asgard cannot evade gravitating towards the gracious little princess, Goddess of Sun, wherever she is seen. She grows fast, bold and fierce and clever under the nurturing of her parents and her Valkyrie godmother. 

When the returning of the king and his comrades is announced now, there is a fiercely training princess casting away her bow and arrows, running as fast as her legs take her through the sunny arcades of Asgard’s palace and down the glorious rainbow bridge, accompanied by two growing wolves, to meet her father half way. She will jump into his arms to eagerly tell him about her newly lost baby teeth while he raises her high up into the air and onto his shoulders to be carried back to the palace. From up there she is proudly waving at the people who gladly come to greet the king and their princess. 

“You have no idea how dearly I missed you, my heart.” Thor will greet his sharp, graceful prince by the throne but not before Sól will have gleefully announced their returning by shouting and waving and declaring her dad has returned. “She has grown so much…”

“It has only been a week,” Loki will answer, rolling his eyes but with a smile on his lips. “You used to leave for months…”

“Well… seems like your scheme worked out just fine then.” 

 

Like the sun, Sól is life and joy to Thor’s Asgard. And like the sun, she will be hell and fire to Laufey’s Jötunheim…

 

_And they lived happily ever after._  
_That’s how stories end, right?_  
_Except for… every story’s end is another one’s beginning..._

 

So, first of all, to tell the truth with sincere apologies: you have been fooled! 

Sól is far from being that perfect little warrior princess. No child was ever meant to be perfect! And our royal family is far from living happily ever after.

There are many fights and many tears coming for them, not only because Loki grows so overly clingy on the child (who could blame him?) and you can guess, Loki and Sól will be given hard times for their heritage more than once and Thor will be given hard times to justify his decisions over and over again. They will be put to the test oh so often, for the world does not change simply because a child is born. But they’re the universe’s mightiest power couple after all!

Sól, however, is bringing Loki to the edge, even as a child. For she inherited the cleverness and mischievousness of her bearer and the stubbornness and self-confidence of her father and there’s plenty of magic adding up to it and don’t forget Hela, though absent, is her aunt! You could call her a strong-willed and joyful kid but stubborn and giddy fits the wild child just right.

Loki is trying his very best to teach her manners and difficult spells and all kinds of knowledge but Sól finds far more liking in her combat training and in playing tricks and escaping to the woods to play with the wolves.

Thor is not at all a strict father, he gleefully lets her do everything (as long as she stays kind to others) and will rather join in with her adventures than prevent them. For this, they are scolded by Loki as much as they are loved by him and while Thor is much better in explaining things the way she understands, Loki is much better in telling fairytales and seeing right through her when she’s upset. As the overly eager and overly loved child she is, they eventually agree on the thought that a sibling would be good for her. But who could be so imprudent to believe Thor would ever let Loki suffer all of this again?

So time goes by and no-one, not even the universe’s mightiest power couple, favors to come across Sól when she hits adolescence. Identity crisis kicks in even on the sunniest of natures and she’s all over the place with blaming Loki for all and everything. For he never shifted her (and himself back) to an Aesir appearance and she makes him the reason she never fits in, always stands out, always feels different, no matter how admired. She will also rage against Thor, for he could have made Loki do it. He might be her king and her father but he’s a helpless mark to her fury. And let’s not forget about that ‘I don’t want to be a princess and especially not a queen one day, I just want to be a good person and like all the others’ attitude. Didn’t her dad harbor similar thoughts in his youth? 

Despite not being an overly eager student, she will have learned a lot from Loki. And what Loki refuses to teach her, she will learn at her own. No-one certainly knows – except for Loki perhaps – but there are suspicions she experiments with shape shifting quite a fair bit at that time. Rumor has it she is using her powers to get the attention of Aesir boys and girls, to turn their head before she leaves them broken hearted. Even the hard training and wise though often enough drunken words of her godmother don’t do much then…  
So Thor will take her to all kinds of journeys first and also missions then. It gives her purpose and helps her finding her place but leaves Loki alone. Again. Never for too long, but still… and let me tell you, calm times when the world was spared from sudden disturbances are memories of the past then!

Until one day, when they will find a small child in the ruins of a revolutionary stronghold in Jötunheim, left alone and clearly a half breed himself, midnight-blue skin adorned by pearly pale, shimmering lines drawing circles all over the small body and face, bright white eyes captivating… no-one would care for him. Thor as well as Sól know they don’t want this child to be brought up by any other family. So this time it’s Loki sitting a child, brought to him by Thor, on his lap and giving him the name Máni and it’s Sól giving him presents and she’s the most encouraging big sister you can imagine. 

Máni, however, grows to be silent but moody and mysterious and sage and feeling deeply and he’s capturing people’s interest and goodwill in a very different way than Sól does. He draws them in like the oceans follow the moon but he’s scared away by his own appeal to people. He’s so uncomfortable with all the attention shoved at him, so he keeps his distance to all but his family. He is a child that plays in his fathers’ study more than in the gardens and that will shyly cling to Loki’s side when they await Thor and Sól to arrive at the great throne hall to lavish smiles and embraces on them.

The young prince knows, from the moment he is able to understand, his family is not of his blood. It does not make any difference for him until he, too, hits adolescence and is getting more and more aware of the civil war still raging in Jötunheim and of this being the reason he never met his real parents and more fatal even, of Asgard’s part in it. He will answer with grief and reproaches and rebellion. He will scream and fight and cast spring tides of the darkest forces and Loki could handle Sól’s attitudes quite well, for she had always been outgoing and loud but when Máni turns against him like this, it’s harder to bear…

The world of the Jötunn prince crumbles when Máni leaves Asgard on his very own, only accompanied by Hati, one of the cubs of Fenris, while Sköll stays at Sól’s side. They have to let him go, Thor taking this much better for he’s so positive about anything and everything but Loki is well aware he might never see his child again. Alive. For Máni leaves for Jötunheim, his home as he calls it. A dangerous journey he does, searching for his parents and for reasons. He will learn the hard way to understand why his parents fought in this war and why his family interferes in this war and he will have to find his role in this war. And eventually he will and he will undermine this war from within, being the perfect spy and strategist and mage. You can tell his parents’ heritage is very alive in him and Loki’s upbringing has left its marks just as well! 

Sól however, she will for a long time not understand the reasons that drove her brother and she will nurture rage within her heart for the hurting he has done to her parents. Of what use is the compassion Thor tried to teach her, when she sees the dearest to her scattered? When she witnesses her ever so strong and loving and patient bearer upset and grieving, burying himself into the matters of Jötunheim as if his own life depended on it, thirstily choking on even the most meaningless tidings, desperately unwary tying his nets, the meshes ever too big to capture even the slightest trace of hope? Still so sleek and even on the outside, while the only thread that’s keeping him from falling apart is the ever so wise king. Her ever so patient father. His ever so loving consort. As much as she would like to calm him, she can’t. She might be their ray of sunshine, but what is the brightest day without the calm of night? The only thing she can do is to go and fight for the sake of an end to this war. 

So she does. 

And there will come a time when Máni and Sól will reunite. In a fight they will encounter and it’s not until the confrontation with her brother that Sól truly understands. And together they will restore peace in Jötunheim, when the sons of Laufey have fallen, through their hands, and with them his regency of cruelty. And the mild, pale cornflower sun shines anew over Jötunheim to nourish the land Laufey’s line shamefully abused and the children of the outcast son of Jötunheim and the great-hearted son of Asgard will build a new era as the gifted siblings they are.

 

And Loki will be the proud mother of Sól, Queen of Asgard, and Máni, Prince of Asgard and rightful ruler over Jötunheim and will enjoy his retirement with Thor...  
...retirement? Hold on! Not for the ever changing God! There will always be ways he can cause chaos to nourish change…he’s the God of Mischief after all and who could be more aware of that than Thor?

 

_But that, my dears… is another one's story._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually not even planned but my head didn’t shut up and then it grew bigger and bigger and became too much for just a note^^  
> Actually there’s also a whole backstory oneshot about how Thor and Loki finally discovered their not so brotherly love for each other, patiently waiting in my Thorki folder… 
> 
>  
> 
> Again, thank you very much for reading and following me through this!  
> <3


End file.
